


Swooner

by Shampain



Series: Journeys, Unexpected [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Other, Sequel, Underage Drinking, expect the usual stupidity i write, lots of other random characters ok guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: Things are going quite well, Bilbo thinks. His friendship with Thranduil is blossoming, Thorin is expanding the brewery, Kíli is head over heels in love and Sigrid has a wonderful friend in Éowyn, the new girl in town.But when is Bard coming home? And where the Hell is Tauriel?A sequel to Modern Love :) Daily updates currently on hold while I battle health issues, sorry folks!





	1. the weekend approaches

**Author's Note:**

> HA I BET Y'ALL NEVER THOUGHT I'D WRITE THIS.
> 
> (I'm not mocking you, my dear readers; I'm mocking my own inability to update stuff.)

The weather for this season in this city reminded Éomer quite a bit of Auckland, except of course for the fact it was happening at the wrong time of year. He and Éowyn had lived with their aunt, uncle and cousin further south, in warmer climes, so coming to this city – still with lovely summers, but chillier winters – was refreshing. Every day he thanked whatever God had watched over them for them to have been blessed with people like his Uncle Theo, who not only took them in and sheltered them but, when the time came for Éomer to look to expanding his horizons, did not object to Éowyn going with him. It could have been an ugly custody battle, or Éomer leaving his sister for two years until she came of age; instead Theo had simply nodded. It was good for family to stay together, but also good for them to get along.

And of course, Éomer told himself this every time his sister was just a rabid pain in the ass. They were only five years apart, which meant that they were close enough in age to both be relatively similar in wisdom, and far enough apart that the age gap was somewhat meaningful in their younger years. Éomer was used to chasing his little sister around ever since she learned how to walk. A calm and well-behaved daughter she had not been, and of course everyone blamed his wild influence.

Well, when it came to climbing trees, riding horses, and a complete lack of regard for his own mortality, maybe they were right. But the older he got, the more he understood that his sister was his responsibility. He had to make sure she didn't break her neck.

His classes done for the day, he was parked outside his sister's school, the engine idling. It was a bit too cold to have the heat turned off. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his mind starting to drift, when suddenly the passenger doors swung open.

“Hey!” Éowyn exclaimed, breathless with laughter, scrambling into the backseat. Normally she would be sitting up front, but this weekend Sigrid was joining them, and they obviously both preferred to sit and gossip in the back.

“Hi Éomer!” Sigrid greeted, sliding in and slinging the door shut. “Thanks for letting me come over!”

Éomer waved it off. “Buckle up, sirens,” he said mildly. He checked his side mirror, preparing to pull away from the curb, when the car behind him started to do it instead. He shifted gears and waited, glancing aside at the driver. Éomer thought he recognized him.

“Oh, hey!” Sigrid exclaimed, leaning over Éowyn and waving excitedly. “That's Faramir. Bye!”

“Éomer, can we stop at the store?” his sister piped up. “I want to get supplies.”

“You mean you want me to get supplies.”

“Well, if you let me get a job with Sigrid, I wouldn't have to borrow money,” she pouted.

“You're not getting a job until summer rolls around.”

“It's not _that_ stressful!”

“I'm sure it's not stressful for Sigrid because she can do that job half-asleep,” he remarked, glancing in the rear-view at said girl. She was grinning. Éowyn rolled her eyes.

“Whatever.”

 

Éomer didn't mind, because he wanted to get more beer anyway, and they were out of milk. Sigrid and Éowyn went off on their own, talking animatedly with each other, and came back with a basket brimming with junk food. He'd promised to finally christen the fire pit in the backyard this weekend, so he wasn't surprised to see marshmallows and hot dogs in the mix. Just as well, he didn't feel like cooking more than he had to this weekend.

Providing for a teenager was Hell, and he truly understood how much his aunt did for the both of them as soon as Éomer had gone on his own. He'd been fortunate that she had wisely sent along some cookbooks with him, so that he and his sister weren't eating takeout all the time. He usually only cooked once or twice a week, freezing all of the extra. Legolas had pointed out that was very 'working mom' of him.

At home, after the girls had retreated upstairs with several bags of chips, Éomer set to carefully counting out the beer in the fridge before adding the new ones. He was very aware that a few went missing every time Sigrid came over, but as long as they didn't go overboard he didn't mind. As far as he was concerned, it was healthy; what frightened him was the idea of Éowyn turning legal age and not knowing how to safely drink or understand her own drunkenness. He'd rather she sneak off with a couple of beer before then. And from what he knew, Bard was of a similar mindset, so he didn't feel bad about Sigrid being involved.

He was just about to get set up for a weekend of estrogen when his cell went off.

“Yoo,” it was Kíli. “How's the handsomest man on 109th?”

“Still handsome.”

“I heard a rumour,” Kíli continued. “That you might be a lonely man this weekend. And you see, I've got a lonely man on this end, too.”

“I'm lonely!” Legolas called in the background.

“... And he's being a big ole pain in my ass, so I thought I'd arrange a setup. You busy?”

“I'm watching the girls this weekend, so I have to stay on premises.”

“Aw, great. How about we come over?”

“Where's Tauriel?”

Kíli gave a long, suffering sigh. “Gone for the weekend. That's why I'm stuck babysitting the child who is always bored.”

“I'm bored!” Legolas, again, in the background.

“Well, alright. I can't let you deal with him on your own in good faith. C'mon over.”

“Great, see you soon.”

 

-

 

“Where’s Tauriel?”

“She went somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I dunno.”

“You,” Legolas declared. “Are a terrible boyfriend.”

“You,” Kíli declared, craning his head around from where he was curled up on the couch. “Need to stop wearing leggings as pants. _Augh_.”

It was, technically, Tauriel’s apartment. But Legolas lived there rent-free, and Kíli lived there half of the time, also rent free. It was a beautiful space, with more than enough room for the three of them. Fíli liked to joke that Kíli was 'a kept man', which was funny because in some ways it was true. Not on purpose, of course. But Tauriel certainly did make more money than him – possibly more than he ever would, in years to come – and there were places in her apartment reserved just for him. The dark room, for example, which they had spent a good few days working on together, making sure it sealed up right. 

He hadn't wanted her to go to the trouble, of course, but she'd been so enthused by the project that he'd had a hard time keeping up his protests. 

Kíli was used to spending time with Legolas, and vice versa. It wasn’t rare when it was just the two of them, hanging out until Tauriel showed up, but it had been  a full day since she had been around and her lack of presence was noted.

Sighing dramatically, Legolas sauntered over to the couch, flopping down at Kíli’s feet. “How come you don’t know where Tauriel is?”

“How come you keep making me look at outlines of your junk?” Kíli replied, trying not to look over the top edge of his book (and, therefore, at Legolas’ junk).

“Ignore my leggings for a moment. Do you know when she left?”

“Yesterday morning?” Kíli hazarded. “Look, she texted me while I was at work, said she was flying out for a couple of days and not to be concerned. Maybe she just needs space from us, you know how she is.”

“True,” Legolas sulked. “She wasn’t suspiciously dramatic or anything?”

“Did she also text you?”

“Well, yes. But I thought she might have sent something more detailed to you.”

Kíli lowered his book and sighed. “Look,” he said. “I’ve learned, in my half year of properly dating her, that she likes her space. And that if something is wrong, she says so. And that she can physically defend herself better than I can.  Or most people, actually . So how can we have anything to worry about? There’s a solution for every bad situation we can think of.  _You’ve_ known her longer than I have.”

“I guess I’m just lonely,” Legolas muttered, flopping back against the couch (again). He poked Kíli’s foot with his own. “Wanna do something? Ugh, I wish your brother was in town. He’s less artsy and moody, and a shitton more fun.”

“He will be soon, once he’s done exams. Then he's coming in for the summer. Just entertain yourself for a couple more months.”

“Hmph.”

Kíli sighed. “Okay, fine. What do you wanna do? We could call Éomer,  he up to anything today? ”

“I think he’s stuck at home making sure his sister and Sigrid don’t burn the place down.”

“Then let’s go over,” Kíli said, shrugging. “I’m sure Éomer could use a bit of testosterone. I'll call.”

 

“Thank all the Gods in Heaven, and all the demons in Hell,” Éomer said, as soon as he opened the door. “Men!”

The entire second floor of the house seemed to ring with shrieks of laughter. If Kíli hadn’t known any better he’d have said there were ten girls up there, not two.

“There’s just the two of them, right?” Kíli asked, staring up at the ceiling, concerned. Not that he minded – mostly he was worried over the fact that if there was a full-blown sleepover occurring, ‘strange’ men in the house was not a good idea for the local PTA.

“Nah, just Éowyn and Sigrid,” Éomer said, shrugging. “And I know what you're thinking, but no – I’ve been grilled up and down by every single parent in Éowyn’s class. I’m a very trustworthy man. You two would need written consent to come in here if there was a pack of girls present.”

“You’re more responsible than you look,” Legolas agreed, draping himself over the kitchen counter, not attempting to hide his gaze. Kíli rolled his eyes. Legolas _loved_ looking at Éomer, but nothing ever came of it. “Where are the rest of the Bardlings?”

“Bain’s staying with Frodo and I guess Tilda’s with Thranduil while Bard’s out of town. Sigrid too, except for this weekend,” Éomer shrugged. “I can deal with my little sister, but two girls under one roof with just me? I just want to cry all the time. I don’t know how Bard does it.”

“Pretty sure he _does_ cry all the time, just in private.”

“He looks like a crier.”

Éomer started digging through the fridge for beer. “So,” he said. “ How ' s your hot girlfriend, Kíli?”

“Fully in love with me and completely uninterested in you.”

Éomer grinned. “Glad to hear it,” he said, handing out bottles. 

“You could make out with me, if you’re feeling up for it,” Legolas suggested, casually. Kíli snorted into his beer, but Éomer just grinned and clinked bottles with Legolas.

“If I ever feel like making out with a man, it’ll be you, buddy,” he said. “No worries on that account. Come on, I was just about to start a fire in the backyard. Éowyn's been bangin' on about something called S'mores and I promised I'd let her and Sigrid make them up.”

K í li had just managed to get his first snort under control, but then it happened again. “You've never had S'mores?!” he basically shouted.

Éomer looked offended. “You've probably never had proper fish 'n' chips, I don't judge you,” he said.

“Alright, let's go,” Legolas said, pushing his way towards the screen door leading into the back yard. “I love playing with fire.”


	2. sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's in the tags already, but underage drinking occurs in this chapter and likely through the rest of the story, as well.

Bard had been gone for almost a week, and Sigrid was starting to get nervous, though of course, she didn't mention that to her siblings. It wasn't his lack of presence that discomfited her, but the reason as to why he had left.

It had been a normal Wednesday when Bard had gotten the call, but he'd gone very still. A distant relative had died, and Bard was one of the only remaining members that side of the family, so he was being asked to go in and see to the arrangements, whatever they would be. To Bain and Tilda, that was nothing to be concerned about – not like someone close to them had died – and was just an excuse to spend time outside of the apartment. Bain had begged to go stay with Frodo and his parents, and Bard had been so harassed at the time that he'd agreed. Sigrid hadn't blamed her brother for taking advantage – she might have done the same, at his age.

The issue now was that Sigrid was old enough to realize that funerals cost money, and if someone out there decided that Bard had to foot the bill, that would not be good for any of them. She knew Thranduil was thinking the same thing, and she had been sorely tempted to ask him about it; but it felt like voicing it aloud to an adult might make it real, so she kept it to herself.

Of course, Éowyn was another matter entirely.

“I don't think they'd make him pay for it, if he's really distant?” her friend said, doubtfully.

“But he's been gone for so long.”

“I know.” Éowyn sighed, and popped a sour cream and onion flavoured chip into her mouth. “But maybe no news is good news.”

“Maybe.”

There was a shout from outside. Sigrid raised her eyebrows at Éowyn, and then they moved over to the window, looking out into the backyard.

There was Éomer, but also Legolas and Kíli. They must have shown up quite recently. They were standing around the fire pit, arguing good-naturedly. From the looks of it, Legolas had attempted to start the fire, but all he'd managed to do was cause half a newspaper to go up in flames. Kíli was loudly complaining of singed eyebrows.

Éowyn waggled her own eyebrows, safe from flames. “Now's our chance,” she said.

Quickly, they crept down into the kitchen. They had done this before, always when Éomer was otherwise engaged. They quickly pocketed as much beer as they felt they could get away with – since he'd just bought two fresh cases, they escaped with two each. Later on they would attempt a couple more, especially now that there was company over and beer was expected to go missing.

The beer safely ensconced in Éowyn's room, they went outside.

The fire had finally started, but they were nursing it. Upon seeing her, Legolas broke into a wide grin and slung his arm around her shoulders. “There you are,” he said. “Looking precious as always.” She hugged him back.

Éowyn poked her brother on the shoulder. In response, her grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, mussing it. “Hey!” she shrieked.

“You've got no one to impress here,” he teased, laughing. “You wanna tend the fire, or get the food ready?”

“We'll do the food,” she said, smoothing her hair back, but she was smiling. Sigrid thought it must be nice to have an older sibling to care for you; she had always been the caretaker when their da was busy. Not that she minded, she just thought there was something sweet about her friend and her older brother. “I can do sauerkraut too, if you want.”

They went into the kitchen, pulling out dishes and pots. “You cook the sauerkraut?” Sigrid asked, curiously. Éowyn nodded, scooping some into the small pot and adding a bit of water.

“Only for a couple of minutes. It's way better.”

Like Sigrid, Éowyn had grown up in a household that helped out, though not as much as Sigrid had needed to, since she'd lived with her well-off aunt and uncle. (Sigrid could only imagine what it was like to lose both of your parents; Sigrid at least still had her father.)

“What do you think Frodo's doing this weekend?” she asked, carefully; Éowyn rolled her eyes.

“Come off it,” she said. “Frodo's an idiot and you know it. Once he's grown out of it he'll ask you out.”

“I'd rather he just ask me out now. Or I ask _him_ out.”

Éowyn waved a wooden spoon at her, scoldingly, but smirking all the while. “We talked about this. We're giving him until the Brandywine Spring Dance. If he is still spacing out by then, you get to be the strong, confident woman and ask him out.”

“Ugh. Fine. What if someone asks him out before then?”

“Girls ask him out all the time and he always says no because he likes _you_ , he just doesn't realize it yet.”

“But what if someone asks him out and he says _yes_ -”

“What's going on in here?” Legolas half-shouted, sticking his head in through the half open back door. They both jumped and gave a little shriek of surprise.

“Legolas! You scared us!”

“What? Is it my face?” he asked, touching his cheek in concern. Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Is it girltalk? Can I join?”

It had been awkward at first, when Sigrid and Éowyn had first started hanging out, and Sigrid had had to explain the relationship between the Bowmans and the Greenleafs. Like the fact that Legolas was not only the physical equivalent of a male model, but also a strange mix between a brother and a sister and a friend. But once Éowyn had seen this was in fact reality and not the plot of a soap opera, she had taken to Legolas' strange presence quite swimmingly.

Kíli was much more Éomer's type of guy, so Sigrid wasn't surprised Legolas was the only one coming in from the backyard, chatting away. In fact, she suspected Legolas was just butting in because he was concerned about how she might be doing, what with Bard gone for almost a week.

“Technically it's boytalk,” Éowyn said, shooting Sigrid a look. “But I think we're done. A deal's a deal. _Right_?”

Sigrid huffed.

“You don't mind us busting in on your girly sleepover, do you?” Legolas asked, slinging himself onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Tauriel's away for the weekend and I'm just goddamn bored so I bullied Kíli into driving us over here.”

“Nah,” Éowyn said, waving a hand, turning back to the stove. “I like having you around. You're good for Éomer's self-esteem.”

“I'd think _mirrors_ were good for his self-esteem,” Legolas replied. “You know you've got a smokin' hot brother, right? Like, the type of smokin' hot that only gets hotter with age.”

“Ew,” Éowyn said. “Please don't.”

“Ignore him,” Sigrid said, starting to pull out the buns they'd need for the hot dogs, and all the required condiments. “He says the same stuff about my dad and no daughter wants to hear that.”

“Well, _I_ grew up with people going 'Oh, Legolas! Your father is so handsome. What happened to _you_?' so you two can stop complaining.”

 

Legolas asked the sort of casual questions that were also very pointed about how she and her siblings (the Bardlings, he called them) were doing. Her answers seemed to satisfy him, and shortly he went out to rejoin Éomer and Kíli at the fire pit.

Sigrid and Éowyn climbed the stairs, and went to open a bottle of beer each using the bottle opener Éowyn had pocketed a couple of weeks ago. It had come free with a case of Alexander Keith's and Éomer didn't appear to miss its presence.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing each other, they took careful sips.

Ever since the end of summer, when Sigrid had been faced with ignoring a good amount of her friend group, school had been somewhat Hellish. It's not that she minded having few people to talk to, because she was always busy at home and at work, too, where she always felt welcome. She just missed the conversation.

So when Éowyn transferred in after the winter break, it had been like – well, as if Sigrid had been standing in the dark  before finally walking out into sunshine. Éowyn was a bit different from Sigrid, less bookish and more outdoorsy, but that hadn't mattered. They watched each other's shows and discussed them,  read each other's books , borrowed each other's clothes and made fun of each other's celebrity crushes. It made Sigrid feel whole again. Their conversation was endless, entertaining, and also understanding. It wasn't that Sigrid felt separated from her family and their friends, but in the end she was a teenage girl, and having another teenage girl as a friend was a lifeline.

By the time their beer was done it was time to roast the hot dogs and make the S'mores, then they drank their second beer in secret and stole two more. By that point Éomer, Kíli, and Legolas were drunkenly laughing at every small thing, so Éowyn figured none of them would notice the theft at all.

After that it was putting on Netflix and only half-watching as they gossiped. Éowyn knew all about Sigrid's failed relationship and the friendships she'd had to break off due to the betrayal from last summer, and she knew all about the crazy ups and downs her family had gone through since then, too. And Sigrid knew everything that had happened with Éowyn – moving to another country when she was seven and attending a fancy school with her brother and cousin, living with her aunt and uncle in the city when she'd been used to suburbs. Their family had once owned a ranch back in New Zealand and Éowyn missed all the open air.

It was nearing 9 o'clock, where Sigrid was feeling drowsy and a bit drunk, when her phone went off. Confused, she looked at it and r e alized it was her dad.

“Sssh!” she hushed her giggling friend. The last thing she wanted was her father to realize she'd been drinking.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Her father sounded tired, but no more than usual at this time of night. “How are things? You at Éowyn's?”

“Yup. We're just watching Netflix. Legolas and Kíli are here, too.”

“Oh? Well, say hello for me. I'm going to give Bain and Tilda a call too, but I just wanted to ask you, is everyone doing alright?”

Of course he would trust her to have the best idea of what was going on in their family with him away. She smiled to herself, pleased. “We're doing good, da. We  j ust miss you. When are you coming home?”

“Soon, Sigrid,” he promised. “I'm almost done here.”

“Is... is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine. Just a lot of things need to be handled. I'm going to try to be back by Tuesday at the latest. Is that alright?”

“Totally. Just – come back as soon as you can, okay? I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetie. I have to go now, but I love you.”

“Love you too, da.”

Sigrid hung up, feeling relatively confident she'd managed to not sound like a drunken teenager. Was it her youth? After two beers each she and Éowyn felt like the room was spinning, but she'd seen Tauriel knock back countless drinks and only come off looking rosy-cheeked.  And she could still beat everyone at Dance Dance Revolution to boot.

Éowyn looked expectant. “So?”

“He said everything's fine.” And Sigrid could feel herself smiling in extreme relief. Her da wouldn't lie to her. “And he's going to try to be home by Tuesday.”

“Yay!” Éowyn enveloped her in a hug.


	3. thunder on lonely mountain

“Bilbo!”

“In the kitchen!”

Ah, of course. Thorin descended the stairs into the entryway, taking the quick right that led him more quickly towards the kitchen instead of having to cut through the living room and dining room. Bilbo was heating up some leftovers for a nighttime snack.

“Do you want some?” Bilbo asked, without turning around. Seeing a moment to be cheeky, Thorin stepped up behind him and slid his arms around Bilbo.

“I always want some,” he breathed into the other man's ear. Bilbo laughed, but he was blushing.

Thorin pressed a kiss to his temple. “I just got a call from Kíli,” he said. “He's crashing here tonight. But Legolas, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently they're over at Éomer's.”

“What about Tauriel?”

“No idea. Maybe she kicked them out and they're homeless.”

Bilbo chuckled. “Are they drunk?”

“Oh, definitely.”

More and more, Kíli spent less time at their home and more at Tauriel's apartment. Not that Thorin minded. He enjoyed having his nephew around, but he also liked having Bilbo all to himself, which was more or less the point of them getting a home together.

Most of the time Kíli was at Tauriel's apartment, and that was fine. It seemed more conducive to him creatively, and every now and then Kíli mentioned the possibility of not going back to school. Thorin had yet to see the photographs Kíli had been taking, but he was looking forward to it. After all, a university degree never guaranteed success in this world, not if you wanted to do things your own way. Thorin had always approved of such antics.

It took about forty-five minutes before the front door opened and noise arrived at Bag End. Kíli and Legolas were leaning shoulder to shoulder, both red in the face. They weren't flat out drunk, which was good, elsewise Thorin would have given them both an earful. Imagine getting trashed with two young, impressionable young ladies in the house? But truly, both of them were clearly just too buzzed to drive.

“Should we make up a second bed, or are you two used to cuddling?” Thorin asked dryly.

At which point, Legolas replied with the sort of response that made Thorin wish he really hadn't asked. “We only cuddle with a Tauriel buffer between us.”

“I highly doubt they're in a triad, Thorin,” Bilbo said when the two had departed to the bedrooms downstairs, dryly, before bursting out laughing at Thorin's horrified expression.

“Don't, Bilbo.”

“You're one to talk, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo said, walking off to pour a glass of wine. “When _I_ met you, only having one person in bed with you was a boring affair.”

Thorin sighed. Bilbo was, after all, correct. There was something wonderfully nostalgic about the past, when they had been younger. Always quarrelling, always trying to make each other jealous. They hadn't been great people, admittedly. To this day Thorin still felt guilt over some of the things he'd done to Bilbo – he'd cheated on the man three times after, yes, _twice_ agreeing to 'go steady'. He never brought it up, of course, because if he did Bilbo would just remind him that back in those days, he'd been just as bad.

Yes, Bilbo was absolutely the best thing that could ever have happened to Thorin, and every day he was thankful he had been lucky enough to end up with him.

 

Breakfast was at seven. Thorin sat at the kitchen table reading the news on his tablet while Bilbo turned over the eggs, and Kíli and Legolas stumbled in.

Legolas, apparently, had work to get to. He wolfed down two pieces of toast heaped with scrambled eggs and chugged some coffee before rushing out the door, but not before grabbing the keys from Kíli and shouting his thanks to Bilbo and Thorin. Thorin huffed a bit of a laugh while Kíli idly spread jam on his own toast.

“So,” Thorin said, taking a sip of his coffee. “What's Tauriel up to?”

“She's out for the weekend,” Kíli said, around a mouthful of toast. “So I'm left babysitting that big lug.”

“Where to?”

“Not sure.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow; even Bilbo turned away from the stove, curiously. “What do you mean, you're not sure?”

Kíli waved his hand airily. “Tauriel is a mysterious creature,” he said. “We all know that.”

“Do we, though?”

No matter what, though, Kíli was unperturbed. Sometimes, Thorin wondered if that might be a problem; it was as if Tauriel could do no wrong to his nephew, which was dangerous if that was a delusion rather than a reality. He had never seen any evidence it might be anything other than what it was, however, which was some comfort.

“She just disappeared?” Bilbo asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“No,” Kíli said. “I mean, I was at the Shire when she texted. She just left for the weekend. We think she might just be trying to get some R and R from us. Or maybe,” he said, with a cheeky look on his face, “she's off visiting the man she's cheating on me with. That's what you're thinking, aren't you, uncle?”

“No!”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said. “Your uncle has more respect for Tauriel than that. If she was off doing anything nefarious, it would be something truly interesting. Like selling state secrets, or murdering someone.”

“Yes,” Thorin said with a nod. “That.”

Kíli snorted.

“Want to come into the brewery with me today?” Thorin asked, going back to his tablet. He knew his nephew didn't have a shift at the Shire, and besides, Legolas apparently took the car and with Tauriel gone Kíli had no excuse to while away a weekend with her.

“Well-”

“If you plan on doing something productive, feel free,” Thorin said. “However, your mother demands you not sit idle while you're down here. Yes?”

Kíli grinned. “Yes, I suppose. I'd love to come to the brewery with you today, uncle.”

 

-

 

Once the two of them had gone, Bilbo cleaned up the kitchen and headed towards the Shire.

Weekends were the days when he felt free to kick back and relax a bit, but he still liked to go in and do some prep for the busy week ahead.

Cookies were one of the best and easiest things to prep. It was all just a case of mixing together the dough, separating them out into the correct sized mound, and freezing them for later. That way during the morning and lunchtime rush all that needed to be done was to pop some into the oven. Even Kili had a hard time screwing that up.

When he arrived at his beloved cafe he found Sigrid behind the counter, and Eowyn sitting on one of the couches along the wall, binder and textbooks open on her lap and the table, studiously doing her homework. Bilbo quite liked Eowyn, and was always inviting her and her brother over for dinner or lunch or whatever meal he found himself cooking. She had spirit. She was a lot like Frodo, in that way.

Speaking of his nephew, Bilbo hadn't seen him in a couple of days, but he supposed that was to be expected with Bain staying over for the week. They were probably giving Drogo and Primula a run for their money.

With Bard gone, really, it seemed like suddenly everyone was doing double duty parenting. When was that man finally going to come back?

“Good morning, Sigrid,” Bilbo greeted cheerfully. She smiled but didn't look away from where she was carefully steaming milk for a cappuccino.

“Morning,” she sang.

“I hope you slept well?”

Sigrid removed the milk from the steamer, raising her eyebrows as she poured it carefully into a cup of hot espresso. He watched as she rather artfully jiggled the milk back and forth, creating what would soon be a leaf. “What do you mean?”

“Legolas and Kili were a little raucous when they came over last night.”

She laughed.

He headed into the back, towards the ovens and his prep area. It was just as pristine as he'd left it, meaning no one had bothered trying or needed to make anything since Friday afternoon. He supposed it wouldn't hurt, after prepping the cookie dough, to make a few batches of cinnamon scones. Even if it was just an excuse for him to take half of the batch home for him and Thorin to enjoy.

 

-

 

It was Saturday, which meant Thorin only needed to be there until around noon before heading off, not that he considered the brewery to be a job, especially now. Things had been going well.

Brewing had begun on a new sampler pack, but unfortunately Thorin didn't get to spend as much time as he used to out in the brewery itself. Too many documents to sign, financials to oversee. At least the bank was being helpful, not at all like it used to be back when Thorin started the place.

Kíli immediately sauntered off to see where he might be most useful, leaving Thorin in relative peace until Dwalin showed up for the morning meeting. They were expanding operations. It would be many years before they could justify opening up a second brewery to deal with the demand, but they were adding more to their current production, and hiring new staff to fill it.

At 9 on the dot, Dwalin materialized in the doorway. “Eighth street is murder this morning,” he grumbled, chucking himself behind his desk. He and Thorin shared the office, Thorin's desk across from the doorway, Dwalin's to the right. “Hmph. Anything new this morning?”

“Not really. Kíli's out on the floor, but that's about it.”

“Alright. I'll call the meeting.”

The meeting involved the office team and the floor managers. Numbers were checked and re-checked, dates and appointments gone over. They had just suffered a city inspection to make sure everything in the factory met regulations, so they didn't have to worry about that for the next little while. In any case, Dwalin ran a tight ship, and Thorin never had to concern himself very much on that account.

After the meeting, Thorin was sitting at his desk, doing a few last minute tasks before he intended to head off to the Shire and meet Bilbo for lunch. Then the office phone rang, which was unusual for a weekend but not unheard of. Just a rare enough occurrence that he and Dwalin didn't bother with the secretary on Saturday and Sunday.

“This is Lonely Mountain Brewery,” he said, politely, into the mouthpiece (it wasn't his cellphone, so he wasn't allowed to answer with a gruff 'what do you want?'. Dwalin was currently sitting at his desk, trying and mostly failing not to laugh). “You have Thorin.”

“You!” Came an angry shout on the other end of the line. “I'll destroy you! I'll take you down brick by brick! I don't care how long it takes!”

Thorin immediately hit the button for speakerphone. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Never you mind!” the man shouted back. Thorin could practically hear the spit frothing from the man's mouth. “Just know that the end is near, Thorin Oakenshield!”

Thorin and Dwalin blinked at each other. Sure, they'd gotten threats before. They weren't exactly friendly people. But there was a difference between thinly veiled warnings from uppity businessfolk (like Thranduil) and flat out crazy (like the fellow on the phone).

“Well,” Thorin said. “Thanks for the warning, I guess.”

“Bye!” Dwalin added, before Thorin hung up. They looked at each other.


	4. thrandad

“Can we watch another episode? Please, please, _please_?”

Thranduil just looked doubtful. “Tilda,” he said. “It's almost midnight.”

“But tomorrow's Sunday!”

“Tilda,” he sighed. “I'm already sure I shouldn't even be letting you watch this. You father might cut all my hair off in my sleep if he found out.”

Tilda cuddled up to him on the couch, gifting him with the most glorious puppy-dog face he had seen since before Legolas had turned thirteen. “But you'd still look handsome with short hair,” she pointed out.

Thranduil ran a hand over his face. “Alright,” he said. “We can watch one more and then you go to bed. And absolutely  _no telling your father_ about this.”

“I promise!” she squeaked excitedly. Thranduil picked up the remote again and pressed play on _Stranger Things: Chapter Four_.

“Seriously,” he said. “Not a word.”

 

He hadn't expected to be watching Tilda all through the weekend, but he didn't mind. If Thranduil was going to be honest, he greatly missed being a dad to a small child. Not that Tilda was small; at ten years old she was quite gangly, obviously inheriting her father's height, and sharp as a tack, like Thranduil's own children. But it was nice to have company through the weekend, and with Sigrid off spending the weekend with Eowyn, it was just him and Tilda.

She mostly swam in the pool and read, tearing her way through the library that had grown over the past twenty years of having Tauriel and Legolas around. She'd obviously read all of the _Harry Potter_ books, but had started reading _His Dark Materials_ when she'd discovered them in the bookshelf. Like most people taking care of children who read, he paid very little attention about what she was occupying herself with – she could be reading case files about serial killers for all he knew and he wouldn't be bothered by it.

But then she'd discovered _Stranger Things_ on Netflix and Thranduil had no idea what to make of that. There was swearing but it was _kids_ swearing just as much as the adults, and the teenage girl acted like most teenage girls, including the one Tilda was related to. 

And  _augh_ . It was  good, really good , and he supposed if Tilda didn't repeat any of the swears (possible),  sneak out of the house to  be  with the popular boy (very unlikely) or get trapped in another dimension (somehow more likely than the  popular boy scenario), and didn't tell her father, it should be fine.

“ _Stranger Things_?” Sigrid exclaimed after returning Sunday night, when she saw it in the watched history.

“Don't,” Thranduil said, waving a stern finger at her, “tell your father.”

“Okay, Thrandad,” Sigrid said.

 

'Thrandad' was a nickname that caught on like wildfire. His employees liked to use it just out of his hearing when they felt he was in a more lenient mood. And usually, he was. Being in a relationship had really mellowed him out; nobody had been fired in three months. He should bill Bard the loss of income he'd suffered from people actually taking their sick days for once.

After calling Primula and Drogo to make sure Bain was still alive and kicking, and driving Tilda and Sigrid to school, he headed into the office. It was the same as it always was – clients to take care of, meetings to take, people to be nice to, people to be horrid to. As varied as it got, very little deviated from what he could usually expect.

Now, though, since it was Monday, and Sigrid worked a shift (as per an agreement with Bard she worked three times a week maximum, and only two of those could be weekday afternoons) she arrived at 4PM to drop Tilda off before heading to the Shire. This was vaguely bothersome, if only because it greatly detracted from his somewhat terrifying presence in the office when he had Tilda wandering around being cute.

But Hell, he cared more about hanging out with Tilda than he did his icy reputation, anyway. Besides, she liked to sit and help his employees with random tasks, and definitely lightened the mood.

At five thirty, Thranduil got his coat. He didn't have to pick Sigrid up until nine, and he was contemplating asking Tilda if she wanted to go eat somewhere, which could have some entertaining results. Following the vein of being one of the weirdest children he'd ever met, if you asked Tilda where she wanted to go she was likely to demand an overpriced restaurant rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of suicidal actresses as opposed to the more normal Chuck-E-Cheese.

He headed to retrieve her from where she was no doubt endearing herself to whatever employee she was following around, double checking his coat pockets to make sure he had his keys, wallet, and phone, when there was – he was going to call it a _commotion_ at the elevator bank that let out onto his floor.

A man rushed in, angry, watery eyes fixed on his front desk receptionist. Well, he intended to rush, but it was more of a lumber, considering his girth. He had unkempt hair that was beginning to go thin, and the most elaborate of mustachios perched on his upper lip. But most glorious of all was his coat, expensive and furred, and it was that which Thranduil's eyes flicked over in understanding. He had no idea who this man was, but only a certain type of person wore a coat like that in the middle of the day amidst a rage.

“Where is he?” he spat at the receptionist. The young man cringed back, though Thranduil wasn't sure if it was veering back from the intruder's attitude, spittle, or breath. “I know this is his floor!”

Thranduil glided forward. “What can we do for you?” he asked, keeping his voice mild and polite, so as not to exacerbate things. The receptionist turned towards him with a rare look of relief. Nobody liked their boss hovering over their shoulder, unless that boss was about to take the proverbial bullet for them.

And really, no one yelled at Thranduil's employees except for Thranduil himself (and sometimes Tauriel).

The look of pure venom directed at Thranduil would have floored a lesser person. “You,” he growled, angrily rearranging his coat as he stepped forward. “You've been planning this, all along. I know your type. Scheming, conniving!”

Thranduil didn't budge an inch. The only movement he made was buttoning up his coat. “I was just on my way out,” he said, politely. “And I'd hate to rush you through your concerns. But you are free to leave a message with the receptionist.”

The shouting was drawing attention. Several of his employees were peering out of their offices. But it was Tilda peeking out of the marketing director's office that caused Thranduil some alarm. He didn't want her to have to listen to this.

“You're a bastard, Thranduil Greenleaf!” the man raged. “And I won't stand for it! I will find you out and tell all of the papers what you've done!”

“Call security,” Thranduil said, calmly, to his receptionist, who diligently picked up the phone.

Fortunately, the word 'security' had the intended effect. Scowling, the man turned and stomped out. The elevators dinged as he left their floor.

Thranduil felt Tilda take hold of his hand. “Who was that?” she asked, as he looked down at her.

“I have no idea,” he said, honestly. He turned to his receptionist. “Galion, figure out who that is and what I've done to him. And make sure security is alerted that I require an escort to my car, and everyone else here if need be.” Like Hell he would stomach any of his employees getting jumped once they clocked out.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

Figuring after all of that the best course would be to head home and have a few quiet hours with Tilda before they went and got Sigrid, he started leading her towards the elevators. “Come on, Tilda,” he said. “Let's feed you up and watch the last episode before your dad gets home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This was a shorter chapter compared to the others, but I'll make up for it later. :)
> 
> Also I hate asking this, but! If you're reading along and enjoying this please let me know in the comments~ If you're a writer or any other type of artist, then you know just how motivating a comment is, and you lovely people are what help me to keep to my goals. I hate sounding like one of those 'I won't update unless you comment!' type folks and I definitely won't do that, but seriously I love hearing from y'all and it makes me really happy! ^.^ Kisskiss


	5. dale - saturday afternoon

Tauriel sipped from the bottle of Perrier one of the sales associates had given her, mulling over a copy of GQ. The hippest and softest of pop music was playing in the background, which did not distract from her perusing of the current article.

“You know,” she said, aloud. “I'm not really a huge fan of Adam Driver, but gosh, his eyes are beautiful. Don't you think so?”

“I wouldn't know,” Bard called, from within the changing cubicle. Well, 'cubicle' was an understatement. The inside of it was nicer (and larger) than Tauriel's bedroom in her old apartment. “I haven't spent much time gazing into his eyes lately.”

“Clearly you need to rework your schedule and fit some eye-gazing in.”

Bard pushed back the rather fancy curtain. Tauriel immediately jumped to her feet (as did a couple of sales women, who had been gazing at Bard as soon as he walked in) and hurried forward. “Nice!” she said, grinning widely.

All he was wearing was a pair of jeans and a henley, and yet that was all he needed. For many years she had done almost all of Thranduil's shopping, making sure he was dressed to his own specifications, with a little bit of her own opinions cast in as well. She didn't consider herself a fashionista, but style was something she had acquired regardless of her personal feelings, due to her career.

But Thranduil was a beauty, long-faced, long-haired, slim and graceful, and his clothes needed to be cut sleek and sure. He looked best in Burberry. (And when it came to Legolas' wardrobe, he seemed to alternate between ballerina sweat clothes and the latest trends.)

Bard, on the other hand? Well, Bard was a man after her own heart, the type of man who looked best in what she termed to be 'the classics'. Simple shirts, simple jeans – sometimes artfully distressed. Shopping for him was a bit of a dream, and it certainly hadn't been what she'd expected him to ask of her when he'd called her up Thursday.

When he'd requested she fly to Dale in order to help him out, she'd been surprised at her own reaction. Instinctively, Tauriel’s muscles had tightened; the hair on the back of her neck had gone on end. When she was just a teenager, sitting in the back of the car as Thranduil drove her and Legolas home from detention, he would lecture them both on acting without thinking. But she couldn’t help it – if someone made even the smallest remark or movement against Legolas, she sprang to the fore. Tauriel fought for what she loved, protected it ferociously. She didn’t have to think about it; at Bard’s words, she was prepared to sprint for the airport, or all the way to Dale if need be.

“What’s wrong?” she'd asked, tensely.

But he’d laughed, and the tension popped like a soap bubble. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just… in some difficulty.”

“What kind of difficulty?”

“Can you meet me here or not?”

Well, she could. She'd quickly bought a flight ticket, packed a carry-on, and called a cab to the airport, remembering to shoot Kíli and Legolas text messages so that they didn't freak out. Well, Kíli wouldn't, but Legolas probably would no matter what, so she was forced to keep both messages short and sweet.

She'd taken a car from the airport to Bard's hotel, and he had met her outside. That was when she knew that something was up – not because he was standing out on the sidewalk, but because the hotel was that luxurious meeting between age-old classic architecture and shiny glass doors and new carpet. Tauriel was relatively certain she almost collided with a Kardashian on her way over to Bard.

Since then they'd sufficiently padded out his wardrobe. They'd begun by mulling over the separate areas of his life, what compromises he was prepared to make, and set about it section by section. He'd been fitted for several types of suits, both custom tailored and straight off the rack. They'd decided on his default style and what he was most comfortable in, and set about gathering the basics so that no matter what he might pick, he had a ninety percent success rate at not looking mismatched.

And of course there were the statement pieces. A new watch. Shoes. And – this was what made Tauriel really excited – leather jackets.

“Thank you,” she said, to the woman who stood there bearing one each of the three jackets currently on display. She chose a carefully distressed black one with the least zipper detailing, and helped Bard shrug into it.

“Thranduil never wears leather,” she sighed. “So you absolutely must. Augh! This looks great. Oh Bard,” she exclaimed, dramatically (and hammily) throwing her arms around him while he stood there, bemused. “Why do you have to be dating my psuedo-adoptive father?”

The sales woman raised an eyebrow but, wisely, did not comment.

“Well, life is full of difficulty, isn't it,” he said, dryly. “You're sure of this one? Not the others?”

“This one for now, I think,” she mused. “We can experiment with more colours and detailing later, but honestly I'm of the opinion you need to fall in love with a jacket before you get a new one. They all need to be properly loved. What do you think?” she asked, glancing aside at the associate.

She nodded firmly. “A wise choice,” she said, dryly. “You don't want to be one of those people who buy whatever we tell you to and then you never wear it.”

Tauriel laughed. This woman had pegged her as bossy and opinionated from the start; the usual sales tricks wouldn't work on her, so she hadn't even bothered. “I like you,” she said. The woman blushed.

Bard was shrugging off the jacket. “Could you bring us one of those blue jackets, over there?” he asked, nodding towards the women's section of the store. “In whatever size will fit this angry redhead.”

“What?” Tauriel said. “No.”

“You've been staring at it since we got here, and we haven't gone over a consultant fee, have we?”

“You don't have to pay me a fee. I'm happy to help.”

“The jacket, please,” he said to the associate.

“Bard!”

“I'm not doing it for you,” he said, primly. “I'm doing it for her. She has to make a living and these jobs are mainly commission, aren't they?”

Tauriel threw up her hands in defeat. “Well, when you put it like that...”

The associate turned on her heel, a large smile on her face. “There's a lovely scarf and boots to match the jacket, too,” she said, primly. “Shall I bring them over?”

“Yes, that will do.”

“Hey!” Tauriel exclaimed. She crossed her arms over her chest, but the damage was done. She watched the woman's retreating back, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. “Hm. She's wasted on retail. So,” she turned her attention back to the changeroom, where Bard had disappeared into again. “What's next?”

“We're mostly finished, aren't we?” Bard asked. “Let's go get dinner and then go out. I haven't experienced the nightlife here yet.”

Since Tauriel had arrived, they'd spent each night holed up in the hotel room, planning the next day and taking advantage of the impeccable room service. For lunch they always ended up somewhere deep in the market by the harbour, eating mussels and drinking too much wine.

In all honesty, even though Tauriel hadn't needed or looked at this like a vacation, it felt like one. She adored Bard; she’d adored him long before she realized he was being pursued by her somewhat-adopted father. It was incredibly fun to have him all to herself for once, especially when they were both severed from their own relationships, if only for a moment. It was becoming a real get-to-know-you point in their relationship, and it was oodles of fun.

The money was just an unexpected perk. She hadn't paid for a single thing since she'd tipped her airport driver.

It really was an incredible thing. She knew now that Bard had once been part of a family that had been very rich – still was, actually, even moreso now. They'd originated here in Dale, though had grown to an international scale over the years. But Bard's great grandfather had been cut from the will after refusing to marry the wealthy daughter of a business partner, and that, as they say, was that. 

“We’ve been destitute ever since,” Bard had explained, shrugging, as they drank cappuccinos on the boardwalk. “Not that we cared much. Freedom over money, and all that.”

Tauriel didn’t bother to mention that money, in many respects, created freedom; there was no point. Bard knew the cold, cruel world of wealth, after all. He was not rich, in fact he barely scraped by, and he refused to take money from Thranduil. And yet she had never seen a family more happy, loving, and honest than the Bowmans.

So she'd just smiled. “So, what? You’re the last in line?”

Bard laughed. “Hardly. I’m technically still cut out as a specific heir, though I've never been named. As an heir of Girion King I have little right to anything. But my… uncle, cousin, the man who just passed, whoever he was, he made a distinct requisite in his will on who the money would go to. And he wanted it to go to a blood relation regardless of family reputation; absolutely no one could marry in. There was myself, and one other.”

“And you were older?”

“Oh, absolutely not, the other one’s an aging beast. No, the will stated that the entire estate would go to the oldest living heir _who had heirs of their own_. Lineage, you see?  It was pretty important to him. And I have three vibrant, healthy heirs running amok at home, whereas my cousin seven times removed is a hairy old bachelor.”

Tauriel burst out laughing. “So you inherited a gigantic sum of money because you had the sense to  _breed_ ?”

Bard gave her a mild smile. 

“That's quite the investment,” she'd joked.

 

At first her largest concern was that, coming into money, Bard would be lost. But she had underestimated him – as a man without much money to begin with, it meant he knew his way around debt, bankers, insurance, and solicitors. Before calling her, before checking into a hotel, before anything, the first thing he'd done was sit down with his family solicitor (he had one now) and drawn up a will  and a gameplan .

The solicitor, a man named Percy Gates, was a venerable looking old man who had a firm handshake and warm eyes. Tauriel liked him immediately when Bard had introduced them, merely an hour after  she landed, still at that cafe by the harbour. 

It was Percy who had combed through the family trees to discover that, when there had previously only thought to have been one heir, there were two, and one more suited to the terms of inheritance. If Percy hadn't done his legwork, the money would have automatically gone to the 'hairy old bachelor', regardless of his unmarried and childless status.

“I'll be perfectly frank,” Gates had said, surveying Tauriel grimly. “I went searching the family tree, not just because it was the task at hand, but because the thought of suddenly bowing and scraping to that oaf was unbearable. A slimier man might not have minded, but I have my own standards to maintain.”

“And Bard fits those standards?”

“Bard is a gift,” Gates said, frankly. “But also completely unlike the rest of his family, distant as they are. There is going to be a shift in the market, a drop in stocks, the media are going to have a field day once this has come out. We've suppressed everything so far, but we must be careful going forward. So that, I believe, is why you were called in.”

“Oh?”

“As a close family friend, and, well,” Gates waved his hand as if to indicate the entirety of Tauriel's being, “Bard figured you were the best bet in helping him to craft a new wardrobe and presence.”

“Why not Thranduil?” she'd asked, aside, at Bard, who had just looked at her like she was crazy.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “If there’s one thing I learned from my girlfriend-then-wife, it was never let your boyfriend dress you.”

“And there you have it,” Gates said, with a solemn nod. “You, Miss Forrest, have the privilege of dressing Dale's new King.”


	6. dale - saturday night

He was wearing his new favourite pair of jeans and a shirt he had just cut the tag off of. Bard couldn't remember the last time he'd had new clothes, but suddenly there he was with a more expansive wardrobe than he ever had in his entire life. But Tauriel had assured him that they hadn't gone overboard, and he trusted her with that. She was probably one of the few people who had a secure knowledge of such things, who could resist the urge of getting overexcited. The only time she bought more than she could deal with was when she was book shopping or ordering dim sum.

When he got back home and spoke with Thranduil about it, and Thranduil agreed, he would possibly offer Tauriel a job as his aide officially. At the moment he felt like he was treading water and watching a gigantic cruise boat float by, unable to reach it. All he had was Percy to see him through, and that, he knew, would not be enough.

All you had to do was Google the Kings to understand how big of a deal this was. The family had started as a trading corporation, but had blossomed from there – production companies, clothing lines, publishing houses, the variation had Bard's head spinning. Soon he would be required to sit and meet every single person who held the reins at those companies, because the Kings had long ago stopped being leaders – these days they were simply owners, raking in the cash.

Well, no longer _they_. It was Bard, and soon, his three children.

Hell. Was it any wonder he had started smoking again?

Tauriel came out to meet him on the balcony where he was exhaling cigarette smoke into the night air. The city of Dale was spread out below them, the glittering lights ending at the water, gleaming darkly under the moonless sky. She was wearing a pale blue dress, almost white.

“Hey,” she chided, gently. “That's not good for you.”

He sighed.

She leaned against the railing. “When are you going to tell everyone?” she asked.

“I don't know. It's... how do you even explain something like this?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. He had a feeling she knew about his other misgivings, as well. The fact that things were going to change; he was stepping into a world he had never considered before, not even while dating someone like Thranduil. That suddenly he could afford to give his children whatever they wanted, but how was he to know when it would be healthy to say yes or no? He didn't want to think his kids could ever turn out to be spoilt brats, but...

And how would Thranduil react? Would his boyfriend try to muscle in? While Bard wanted and appreciated some advice, if it came from Thranduil things would get prickly. They might disagree, start arguing, take things too seriously...

Tauriel put her hand on his elbow.

“Come on,” she said. “It's Saturday night. Let's get hammered.”

 

Bard hadn't gone out drinking with a friend in a long time. He had Bilbo, but Bilbo had rarely been one to party even back in the old days, and was less likely to now; and whenever Bard went out with Thranduil it was with a sense of restraint that came with maturity and wisdom.

But Tauriel was young and reckless and that was exactly what he needed.

She'd done her hair up into an elaborate updo, and with heels on she was a leggy goddess zigzagging her way through whatever club they happened to walk in. She took advantage of Bard's wallet, shoving her way in between overeager men and uninterested women and offering to buy the women a drink. It was quite clear that being an asshole when imbibing was not a trait that had stopped with Thranduil and Legolas.

At around midnight they stood outside on the sidewalk, sharing a cigarette and laughing about something ridiculous, Bard wasn't even sure what. “Hold on,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I need to call Kíli. I need to make sure he isn't running amok with some other redhead.”

Bard snorted. “Unlikely,” he muttered around his new cigarette, drunkenly attempting to light it (the lighter kept swaying back and forth in front of his face for some weird reason).

He listened to Tauriel talk. Mostly she seemed concerned about what Legolas was up to without her supervision, but there was plenty of sweet talk for her boyfriend as well. Her affection for Kíli was obvious to anyone with eyes, even though she rarely engaged in any displays of affection that might normally be seen among a young couple. They rarely held hands, rarely kissed. But a sparkle came to her eye and a smile to her mouth whenever Kíli was near.

Actually, it reminded Bard quite a bit of Peter Pan – that is, the hidden kiss on Mrs Darling's mouth. Kíli seemed to have snuck one onto the corner of Tauriel's, and it was there for all to see.

“All good?” he asked, when she had hung up and had wandered back over, taking his cigarette from him.

“Yup,” she said, taking a puff. She was probably going to be incredibly sick in the morning. “When I get home he needs me to help with some of his photography, picking some pictures out. He's gotten really good, you know?”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, pleased, then coughed on the cigarette and handed it back. “Augh,” she said. “I should just stick to vodka.”

“Probably.”

“So what next?”

“Tauriel,” Bard said, suddenly, before he could think better of it. “What's the deal with you and Kíli? Are you just private or are you... waiting?”

“Waiting?” Her eyes crinkled, amused. “Waiting for what?”

“For...” he mentally grasped for the words, not sure how to put it. “For... marriage?”

She started laughing so hard that Bard was worried she was going to sink to her knees. He could feel himself going red with embarrassment (the alcohol surely didn't help combat the flush). “I'm sorry,” he hazarded, reaching out to grab her elbow when it looked like she was going to topple over. “I shouldn't have asked, that's probably personal and between the two of you-”

Tauriel was shaking her head, trying to catch her breath. “God, no, it's fine,” she wheezed. “I mean... you're not the first person who's asked. Just not like that. Shit.”

“I'm not?” he asked, aghast.

“No, people seem pretty interested in what's going on between us, for some dumb reason. No, sorry,” she said, waving her hands about. “That sounds insulting to you. It's not. I mean like random people in the street have asked us what's going on even.”

“Jesus. Well, forget I asked.”

“No, really, it's fine. I mean it was unusual from the start. We've talked about it together...” Tauriel paused, catching her breath. “I mean. I guess it's about me and not Kíli but he's involved. I don't even know for sure because he's my first real relationship. Outside of friends and family.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Looking at all the possibilities, if we're gonna get into labels – which I hate – I'm probably asexual,” she said. “But I might be demisexual. We'll see. I mean, making those two mutually exclusive feels like it's shutting a lot of doors, haha.”

“Asexual?” Bard asked. “Like a plant? You're a plant, Tauriel?”

“Yes, I photosynthesize as well.”

He tapped his chin with his fingertip. “No, not a plant,” he mused, slowly. “No... you're like... one of those Velociraptors on Jurassic Park. You know? They were all female but still managed to breed. Or, wait, that had to do with frogs somehow. It's been awhile.”

She was laughing. “Shut up,” she said, punching him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“So, does that answer your question?”

“Sure. I mean, I didn't even really mean to ask. Actually. I don't know. God, I'm drunk.”

“Well, Kíli seems okay with it. I suspect he's never dated a girl who didn't take her underwear off for him in the first week but I mean, I like being the odd one out. Or I'm used to it. But he's cool with it and that's what matters, right?”

“Right.”

She offered him his arm, and he took it. When she lead him past the entrance, he supposed that meant they were done with that particular club and off to the next.

He sighed. “I miss my kids,” he said. “I've never been away from them this long. Except for camp. But all in one go... no.”

“When do you think you'll be done here?”

“Monday, Percy says. So heading home Tuesday.”

“Have you figured out how you're going to tell them?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe don't tell them, like, the whole story,” Tauriel suggested. “Just... mention you inherited some money. That's all. The details can come later.”

Bard sighed. “The details would have to happen soon,” he reminded her. “Once my inheritance becomes public, that's it. Do you think buying a home in Thailand and just living there forever and hiding from the western world is a mature play?”

“Probably not, but the food is pretty good over there, so why not?”

“Let's go in here,” Bard suddenly said, the glow of the sign hanging above the club catching his eye. He tugged her after him. He would consider how best to deal with everything in the morning; for now he was just going to keep drinking with his friend, and the rest of life's difficulties could come after.


	7. homecoming

Legolas had not made it to his bed; he had fallen asleep on the couch. On the television, the familiar 'Are you still watching _Once Upon a Time_?' message was staring accusingly out into the world, as if to say 'don't you have anything better to do with your life than watch Netflix all day'? Augh. Rude.

He properly woke up when he heard the apartment door slam. “Whoops, sorry, sorry,” Tauriel's voice drifted in.

Hurriedly, Legolas tried to peel himself off of the couch, knowing without checking that he had the imprint of one of the decorative pillows on his cheek. “You're back!” he exclaimed, peeking over the back of the couch. He watched her deposit her bag by the door and head towards the kitchenette, flicking on the coffee maker.

“I'm back!” she sang.

Legolas almost shouted for Kíli, when he remembered that her boyfriend was at his uncles' for the time being. He sat up and checked the time; 11AM.

“Kíli's coming with bành mì if you were hungry,” Tauriel said, cheerfully. She looked rather fresh and rosy; clearly her time away had been well spent.

“When did you get in?”

“Landed about an hour and a half ago, maybe two?” She began to take mugs down from the cupboards as he got up and made his way over to the island in the kitchen. They had a proper dining table, but more often than not they just ate at the island. The dining table was for things like board games, or entertaining Thranduil and Bilbo, who cared about that sort of thing.

“Where did you go?”

She shrugged. He narrowed his eyes. “I'll tell you later, I promise,” she said, noting his look. They didn't make it a habit of keeping things from one another. But holding off a reveal until a bit later? Legolas supposed he could grudgingly agree to that.

The lock sounded in the door and Kíli appeared, carrying a plastic bag with the logo of their favourite Vietnamese place on it. Legolas grabbed for the sandwiches just before Kíli forgot what he was doing and dropped them, heading over to immediately wrap his arms around Tauriel.

Tauriel's smile whenever she saw Kíli after some sort of absence was always a restrained type of expression, as if she was trying really hard not to break into a huge grin but was starting to struggle at it. “I missed you,” she said, putting her hands to his unshaven cheeks and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

They really were pretty good roommates, though, because even in the privacy of Tauriel's apartment they weren't big on the PDA. Seconds later they were going about their usual business, grabbing milk and sugar for the coffee, discussing Tauriel's somewhat rocky flight back from she-wouldn't-say-where.

Legolas plated each sandwich, an identical bành mì for each of them except for Kíli, who disliked cilantro heartily.

“I was thinking of doing a big dinner tonight,” Tauriel said, tearing into her sandwich with a hunger. “Invite everyone over.”

“ _Everyone_ everyone, or just everyone?” Kíli asked.

She smiled. “Just everyone.”

“Cool. We tried not to trash everything while you were away, so we should be good for company.”

“You water my plants?”

“Of course I did.”

She beamed. Legolas rolled his eyes.

“So,” he said. “That's us, the Bardlings plus... is Bard back? Yes? Plus Bard, dad, Thorin and Bilbo. Éowyn and Éomer?”

“If they're free,” Tauriel said, with a nod. “And I think that's it. What should I cook?”

“You mean, what should _I_ cook?” Kíli asked, archly. “You do enough around here as it is for us freeloaders.”

“I think what Kíli means to say,” Legolas said, taking a gulp of coffee, “is what do you want _me_ to cook? Because I'm the one who is always in the kitchen.”

Kíli scowled. “Because you're bossy.”

“No, because I'm the best cook living here,” Legolas said, before taking a large bite of his bành mì. The next words he spoke were around that mouthful. “So? Anyone in the mood for grocery shopping?”

 

Actually, they had to wait for Legolas to take a shower and wash the Netflix off of him first, but after that they piled into the car and headed to the Italian market. He drove; Tauriel and Kíli sat in the backseat, Tauriel leaning against her boyfriend, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. Legolas wasn't sure if she was just enjoying herself or was still sleepy from her flight, regardless of the coffee.

Actually, grocery shopping was greatly overdue. Legolas always kept an eye on that sort of thing, because he absolutely hated running out of anything. Tauriel was, frankly, the most 'adult' out of the three of them, and she was intelligent and organized, but sometimes she got lazy, which he didn't judge her over and wasn't really surprised by. He still remembered coming back from his sojourn in Europe to find her living in a tiny apartment still half-full of boxes she hadn't bothered to unpack.

Legolas, though, was always focused. It happened naturally, so much so that it was easy to make people think he was anything but. He'd always derived some devious entertainment in pretending to be an idiot, like it was one long joke he could just laugh at forever. Most everyone who knew Thranduil professionally figured his son was about as useful as a bag of hammers in a desert, but that was an impression created by Legolas because it suited him.

At least these days Thranduil seemed willing to let the subject of Legolas taking over the business rest, and just let his son do whatever he liked.

“Ok,” Legolas said. “I have the list. Now, how reliable are the both of you going to be this time?”

“I'm very reliable,” Kíli said.

“Hm, I kinda wanna go get a napoleon,” Tauriel mused, her eyes already drifting to the part of the market where the bakery gave way to a cafe.

“Same,” Kíli said. “So I take it back. I am not reliable at all.”

“Bye!” Tauriel exclaimed, taking Kíli's hand and pulling him away.

Legolas rolled his eyes for what seemed like the fifth time in a third as many hours.

 

-

 

Kíli dreamed about her whenever she was away. She was such a strange and otherworldly creature to him, as if a part of her just couldn't be real; but of course when he reached out and took her hand she was flesh and blood, just like him.

In his dreams he would see her walking and he couldn't tell if she was underwater, or in a silent wind, because she was bathed in silver and her hair wove through the air, slow and ghostly. It was this strange, fey creature he tried to capture in photographs.

But there was, also, the other woman. Vivid and lush, as alive as a forest, like a tree sprouting from the earth itself, her hair a mass of autumn leaves around a freckled face. Not to mention the woman who seemed to be made only of fire...

And just like that, Kíli found himself unintentionally embarking on a photographic series. His working title was _Elements_ , and within the pictures he tried to bridge the gap between each different meaning of the word. From nature's elements, to an element in a story, to all things elementary. Tauriel had just been that spark of inspiration that had set everything else aflame.

In all his photographs of her he called her 'Model 27; The Spirit'. To him she encapsulated the entire world moving around him, endless and inspiring. Of course, he couldn't tell Tauriel that. Sometimes she just blushed looking at the photographs, like she couldn't believe that was what he saw.

And that was fine. Tauriel wasn't an artistic woman. She was imaginative, and smart, and her emotions ran deep, but she was a lover, not a creator. Deep down, that was what Kíli felt he needed and also craved in himself. She pampered her house plants, talked often of hiking, and she loved, _loved_ stargazing. The world held magic for Tauriel and she sought to touch it. Did that mean she found magic in him? The thought was comforting but also thrilling.

He loved watching her dance, and loved listening to her sing, which she would simply _do_ sometimes, her voice soft and throaty, just for her own pleasure. And just now she was humming, folding and unfolding a napkin while she sat at the rickety plastic table, as he came up and set down the napoleon and cappuccino they were to share.

“So where did you go?” he asked.

“Dale,” she said, automatically. “I went to see Bard.”

“Really? Bard? Wasn't he...”

“Embroiled in family trouble? Yeah,” she said. She touched the back of his wrist. “Well, kind of. I want to tell you, but it's not my story to tell. But it's all related to that funeral he got called away to.”

“So that's why you want to have everyone over for dinner tonight? To get everything out in the open?”

She smiled, a little embarrassed. “I can't hide anything from you,” she said, picking up the cappuccino and taking a sip. “Yeah, that's why. So is that okay?”

He cut their napoleon in half. “As long as everything is alright with you,” he said. “It is, right?”

Tauriel smiled. She leaned towards him, and Kíli did the same to her in return, until their foreheads gently touched. “I'm perfect,” she said, softly, in a whisper.

“Good,” he whispered back.

She settled back in her seat. “When Legolas is cooking can you show me some of the new photos?” she asked, hopefully. “I've been looking forward to it ever since Saturday.”

“Absolutely,” Kíli said. He picked up her half of the napoleon and tried to feed it to her; unfortunately he got it on half of her face, and they were still cracking up over it when Legolas came to fetch them, loaded down with shopping bags and looking like a cranky spouse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late! I'm an idiot and ate something I'm allergic to yesterday and it kind of put me out of commission >.>

It had started after the accident, once he'd been stuck in a cast and unable to paint or draw for some time. He'd played with the idea of photography and, unbeknownst to him, his casual internet searches and long browsing in camera stores had not gone unnoticed by his family.

Most shockingly, it came from Uncle Thorin himself, but not shockingly it was with very little fanfare. “Bilbo thought your paints were getting a bit dusty,” he'd said, setting the ridiculously expensive camera down on the foot of Kíli's bed one morning when he was still recovering, while he was only just starting to stir awake from the night's sleep. “Perhaps this will tide you over until then.”

And that was that. Thorin was a master of doing things in a way that made any of his kindnesses look like common sense, and any attempt to thank him for it was strange and gratuitous. That did not stop Kíli, however, from giving both him and Bilbo very large hugs once he was properly awake.

For the past few months Tauriel was on some sort of weird vacation where she went to work three days a week, sometimes going in for a few hours more on other days, but besides that had very little in the way of scheduled responsibility. She wanted to figure things out. “I never had time to figure anything out,” she said, when he asked why she wasn't going back full time, or switching careers. “I like this. I'm comfortable like this.”

And then she had hesitated and asked, carefully, if maybe he was getting tired of her. Because that was the thing about Tauriel; she'd never met anyone who tried to meet her on her own terms, and that saddened him, because she was the most wonderful person he had ever met.

They spoke often about it, because they were both learning. Kíli, admittedly, had never gone out with a girl for very long before he got to see the inside of her bedroom; sometimes it only took a matter of hours. Tauriel was different, though, and he liked the challenge that brought to the relationship. Not that he was trying to get her into bed or treat her like a prize, or anything like that; just that it occurred to him that the way she was... it was gentler, kinder, sweeter, more potent. They focused on each other, on who they were. When she held his hand he always knew it was because she wished it, not because she felt obligated to.

And he _did_ get to see the inside of her bedroom, whenever he stayed over. They would curl up and talk until they fell asleep, nestled and warm together. He'd never felt happier, or safer.

Whenever Tauriel was at work Kíli would lock himself in the dark room for a good portion of the morning. It was still amazing to see the photographs coming to life before his eyes, revealing his techniques, whether he'd read the light correctly or framed the subject enough.

These were more important than subjects or studies, though. These were his heart.

When he hung them up to dry Tauriel's face would gleam out from the borders of many of them. He hoped she liked them; it had taken forever for him to convince her to pose for him in the first place. “I'm not a very interesting subject,” she'd protested, after the third time he'd asked. But then he'd taken her hand and rubbed his thumb over her palm, and gave her the look he only pulled out when he desperately wanted to get his way. Tauriel had relented, and he didn't want her to regret it.

Now here was one of them, for all the family to see, hung up on a bare space of wall near one of the large windows. They'd picked one together and as the visitors slowly trickled in, it hung there to be admired while Legolas continued to toil away in the kitchen.

Thranduil, Thorin, and Bilbo were the first to arrive.

Tauriel's boss and mentor was narrow and lean, and always reminded Kíli of a knife, but he loved Tauriel and that had to be enough for everyone. Kíli tread carefully around the man, and he had a feeling that was mutual, given how little Thranduil spoke to him yet was, always, unfailingly polite.

He expected something similar from the man now, but to his surprise when Thranduil opened his mouth it was a bona fide opinion making itself known. “Lovely,” he said, with feeling.

Thorin lowered his wine glass, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Kíli gaped. But Thranduil spread his hands as if to frame the picture before him. “Look at her,” he said. “The colour. She's so vivid.”

Tauriel blushed scarlet. “Um...”

The photo had been one that Kíli, as soon as he had developed it, had wanted to show the entire world. Instead he'd forced himself to apply the brakes. He wanted to get everything right. He scanned and digitally altered it, just a touch. And he'd made sure it was properly framed before he'd even shown it to Tauriel. It was the one photo he desperately wanted her to see and understand, and it was the photo that he felt encapsulated every other picture he had taken.

It was just Tauriel. It had been raining and her hair had been frizzing slightly. She was posing at the back door of the Shire in the alley, in front of that handle-less green door, the light fixture above it casting her in an ethereal glow. Consciously he had been playing with light and focus; now he knew, unconsciously, that he had been looking for something else, and had captured it.

“Is that how she looks to you?” Thranduil asked, looking around her and straight at Kíli. “She makes the rest of the world go pale, doesn't she? Well done. I would love to purchase one of these. Perhaps you could photograph Legolas too. Not so lovingly, of course, but I'd love matching prints of my ridiculous heirs.”

“Legolas is in a few.”

“Kíli's got to show the photo, and all the others, first,” Bilbo piped up, looking entirely too pleased. Then again, if there were two people in the room who would play art critic, it would be him and Thranduil. “A proper showing, in a gallery. We could arrange that, couldn't we, Thranduil?”

Thranduil gave Bilbo a slightly shadowed look, then nodded. “Is that what you wish to do?” he asked Kíli.

“Only if it's fine with Tauriel,” he said, without needing to think about it. She was, after all, his model in over half of them.

She shook her head. “They're your photos, you can do what you want,” she said.

“But you're in them. All I did was point the lens and click.”

“Liar.”

“Are you comfortable with that, Tauriel?” Thranduil suddenly interrupted. She looked at the man she saw as a father and Kíli thought he saw a shadow of hesitance pass over her face.

Kíli was quick to leap on it. “We don't need a show,” he said.

“Nonsense!” cried Bilbo. Thranduil was looking at Tauriel.

“Perhaps change her name,” he said, surprising them with the suggestion. “It will give her some anonymity. Or don't include her name at all. A number, perhaps, something generic like that. How's that?”

“Kíli's already done that, actually,” Tauriel said. “He calls me...” she trailed off, then, looking embarrassed.

“Model 27; The Spirit,” Kíli supplied, without hesitation. He stepped over to her and took her hand, smiling reassuringly. She smiled back.

“I think if you're proud of them you need to show them. I think they're beautiful. Not to be vain,” she added. He squeezed her hand.

“We can start looking for galleries,” Bilbo said, looking entirely too pleased about the idea. Kíli could just picture his uncle and Thranduil, ghosting through the arts district, terrifying the gallery assistants.

“Dibs out,” Thorin said, taking a sip of his wine.

“Obviously,” Thranduil muttered. Thorin glared.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, grabbing Thranduil's sleeve and dragging him away. “Let's see what Legolas is cooking up,” he said.

Thorin reached for a plate of rich cheeses, meat and olives Legolas had plated and left out, popping an olive in his mouth. “It _is_ very good, Kíli,” he said.

“He's very talented,” Tauriel said. Now it was Kíli's turn to look embarrassed.

Thorin considered the photo a bit more, and nodded. “I'd like to see some of the others, when you're ready,” he said. “You mentioned a series, right? Are they all Tauriel?”

“About half of the ones I took are Tauriel, but they won't all make it into the final showing,” Kíli said. “And like I said earlier, there's Legolas. A lot of it is set up like street photography. Eventually I'd like to branch out into more cerebral, fantastical photography, uncle.”

“You took some of Bilbo too, didn't you?” Thorin asked. “I'd like to see those eventually, as well.”

“Of course.”

There was a swift knock on the door, and then it opened – when Tauriel was expecting company she didn't bother to lock anything, and the doorman downstairs knew most of her visitors – and in came Bard. His children and Éowyn accompanied him – Éomer had begged off for the night, citing homework.

“Hallo, Bard,” Kíli said, feeling some relief. Tauriel had mentioned the family issues hadn't been altogether bad for Bard, but it was easier to believe when he saw the other man in good spirits. “Beer?”

“Please,” he said, shucking off his boots. Sigrid and Éowyn nipped right by him, going to ogle the photograph. “It's a long day getting longer by the minute.”

“I hear that,” Thorin muttered.


End file.
